Lost In The Winds That Blow – The Cockney Bard

Though young am I and fortunes fade this hour, this day, I lay fallen with friends I barely know. Such is this war, oh lovely war, where numbers not names have meaning. Dreams lay scattered in fields, with fires burning into the night. Wretched war, that cursed war, that scars the heart. Bemoan a soldier’s life. A worthy man, but a worthless corpse in bloody fields far from home. Where is the reason? Where is the hope? When letters to love ones penned, lay muddied, lost in the winds that blow. War in anyone’s name? Not mine or yours!

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